


hold on (we're going home)

by viii



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:22:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2367419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viii/pseuds/viii





	1. your high love

It's raining in Vancouver on the last day of November. Piers has been gone for six weeks. It hasn't been the longest he's been gone, but it hasn't been the shortest either. He doesn't know how he's going to find Chris when he pulls out the rusty key that he doesn't use as often as he should and unlocks the door to Chris's apartment.

Chris is drunk again. It shouldn't surprise Piers like it does. Being drunk is Chris's MO and every time Piers comes back, he finds Chris how he left him. It makes him wonder why he continues to come back. But then he takes one look at Chris's drunk, hopeful eyes and easy smile and knows why he comes back every time.

Chris looks up from where he's lying on the couch, playing Call of Duty. His eyes light up but he doesn't move from his sprawled position. “Piers,” he says, the joy unmistakable in his voice.

“Chris,” Piers says, wrinkling a nose. There's something in the apartment that should have gone out to the trash weeks ago. He shuts the door behind himself and sets his backpack down.

Chris pauses the game at the sight of the backpack. It signifies that Piers won't be here long, that it's only temporary – more so than usual. The corners of his mouth pinch down in a frown and he swings his legs down to rest on the floor. He gives Piers an accusatory look.

“Leon send ya?”

At the silence, Chris grunts and takes it as confirmation. He stands up, swaying momentarily before he gets his balance back and he glares at Piers.

“Chris...” Piers trails off, unwinding his scarf and he hangs it up neatly by the front door. “I came because I missed you.”

Chris snorts at that and heads into the kitchen. He's wearing a pair of boxers and a wife beater that was originally white, Piers thinks, but it's now yellowed around the pits and there is a suspicious orange stain on the belly of it. Piers follows him, wiping damp hands on his fitted blue jeans.

“You want a drink?” Chris asks, pulling a bottle of beer out of the fridge and he holds it out to Piers. Normally, if it was anybody else, Piers would say no, because he's not that big on drinking – not after everything that has happened and after everything he knows. But Chris gets mad when he says no; he takes it personally, like Piers is insulting him. It's just easier to accept it and nurse it for as long as he can before Chris gets suspicious. 

“Sure, thanks,” he says, curling his fingertips around the neck of the bottle, slick with condensation. Chris nods at him and plucks out a second for himself. He uncaps it with a hiss and takes a long swallow.

“So - ”

“Wanna play more COD?” He asks, cutting Chris off because nothing good ever happens when Chris is drunk. He takes everything to heart, more so than usual and Piers didn't come here to cause him pain. The opposite of that, really.

Piers takes a sip of the beer. “Let's order pizza and I'll show you how it's done.”

“Oh, you're _on_ , soldier,” Chris says with a lazy grin.

Something in Piers's chest breaks a little.

***

It's been two and a half years since China, since Chris had thought Piers dead and Piers had written himself off. Life is funny like that though. The impact of the explosion had sent Piers propelling out into the ocean where he had surfaced and floated for two days until he came to shore in a little Chinese village and two young boys had found him, shrieking in horror at his mutation.

Piers had wept and wanted to die.

The BSAA had taken him back though, under a highly classified gag order and no one knew of his survival – not Chris, not Sherry, no one. For days he laid in a sterile white room while they tested him, tested the mutation. Finally they amputated, cutting off as much as they could of his arm until they swore they were sure they had gotten all of the mutation.

It had dug in deeply though, clawing into his veins and it defended him because it was defending itself. At the removal, it unleashed its fury and his arm grew back. It wasn't as grotesque as before and it had no bio-electricity to fry anyone with. It looked a bit like his old arm, slightly bulkier though and red raw. They used skin grafts so he was covered in scars but he could flex his fingers and open doors with his hand and it wasn't all so bad.

One eye still grew milky when he was furious, when the mutation deep inside of him sensed _danger, not right, protect self, protect him_. He wore colored contacts though and left the hospital with the hope that he could pick the pieces of his life back up after being gone for almost a year.

***

Chris beats Piers at Call of Duty, but Piers isn't surprised. He doesn't play the game unless he's here with Chris, and he suspects the older man plays it daily. Chris is almost forty three, retired and spends his time on his couch. It's no wonder that he's such a professional at it.

Piers eats three slices of pizza and watches Chris eat five, sauce dribbling on his chin and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. Piers sighs.

“Now what,” he says, tossing his controller down because he's done getting his ass handed to him for the night.

“Dunno,” Chris shrugs, setting his own down and he reaches for his third bottle of beer, taking a pull. “How long you here for?”

Piers flinches. Chris always throws it in his face that Piers comes and goes. He wishes he had some sort of defense that he could throw at Chris but he doesn't. He comes because he can't stay away and he leaves because he can't bear to stay.

It's as simple as that.

“We could go for a walk,” he suggests, wondering how long it has been since Chris had last left his apartment. Or showered, for that matter. “Do you need groceries? We could walk down and get some.”

“I'm out of milk,” Chris says and it's the closest he'll say to _yes, okay, I don't care what we do, as long as it's with you_.

“How about I clean up while you jump in the shower?” Piers offers, already standing and he begins to gather up the beer bottles, suspecting that quite a few of them have been there since before his arrival.

“Sure,” Chris says agreeably and he leaves the living room, the bathroom door closing and Piers can hear water running. He sighs in relief.

They've demolished all of the pizza so he takes the empty container and sets it on the counter, adding to it until he has a nice pile of recycling that he can take down. He gathers the trash and changes the bag, rinsing out all the beer bottles and he lines them up on the counter. There's a depressing amount.

By the time he is finished, Chris is exiting his bedroom. He's wearing jeans that seem clean and a green button down shirt, his hair damp and curling around the back of his neck and Piers _wants_. He swallows hard and offers him a smile instead.

“Let's go,” is all he says and so they do.

It's cold and rainy out, but Piers has an umbrella and they walk close together, letting it shield them both. Piers doesn't argue when Chris takes his hand, entwining their fingers together and instead he just holds on tighter thinking, _yes, I can fix this, I can still fix you_.

“Just give me time,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Let's take the sky train,” Piers says instead and Chris smiles and nods.

He's always been so easy to manipulate and that's half the battle right there.

***

The first person Piers had followed up on after his release had been Chris. He knew his Captain would be shocked at the news, he had thought Piers dead and Piers knew that they had even held a funeral for him with an open casket. He had so many people to see, including his parents, but first – he wanted to see Chris.

He had gone to the BSAA headquarters to ask where Chris was, suspecting he was on a mission but surely he would be back soon. Chris had promised him that he wouldn't retire, that he would lead more men into war until they had won. But no, Chris had retired and Piers had seen red.

He had followed Chris to Vancouver, Canada. Why Chris had chosen to go across the border, Piers still didn't know. However, he had found Chris in a shit hole apartment with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. It had taken Piers over a day to convince Chris that he wasn't a ghost or a hallucination.

He had stayed with Chris for almost a month, cleaning his apartment for him and taking him to AA meetings. He had received a phone call, calling him back in for duty and so he had left with the promise to return.

That had been the start of a vicious cycle, the leaving and returning. He would leave Chris on a high note and return to find him sunk low once more. It was a losing battle but Piers had always been stubborn.

His parents had been overjoyed at his return, angry at the BSAA for keeping such information from them, and resigned acceptance than Piers had changed and would never be their boy again.

He reached out and made friends, developing a bond with Leon that was unexplainable. He stayed weekends here and there with Jake and Sherry who were slowly finding their way together. He even ran into Claire and took her out for dinner, although his mind had protested _wrong Redfield_ the entire time.

Two and a half years since China and Piers slowly felt like his life was coming together. He had no complaints, except for the area of Chris that he wasn't capable of quitting. It wasn't in his nature to give up, though and so he didn't.

***

The weekend passes slowly. Piers takes Chris out when he can, they go to a book store so Piers can find a new paperback for his flight back to New York. Chris purses his lips at that but doesn't object, instead he finds a magazine that he enjoys and makes Piers buy it for him. They go out Saturday night for a nice dinner, Piers treats Chris to sushi although Chris hates it and once they leave, drags Piers to the nearest McDonald's so he can get some _real_ food.

Piers laughs.

Once they're back at the apartment, Chris becomes quiet and Piers begins to worry. He tries to keep things light-hearted and waves the Xbox controller at Chris enticingly.

“Wanna beat me again?” He asks.

Chris shakes his head but he comes and sits down beside Piers anyway, staring out the window where the rain falls once more. Piers knows he's thinking, he can practically see the gears grinding in his head but he stays quiet. Chris will talk when he's ready.

He doesn't say anything though, he just turns and falls into Piers, dragging him down on the couch so he can kiss him. He kisses like he lives; aggressive and brutal strength, all teeth but with the underlying hint of gentle and care. He kisses like it's a war, battling for dominance and fighting to keep it once he's won it.

He kisses like a storm and foolishly, Piers lets him.

***

It began six months after Piers started showing up for weeks at a time. They had been fighting, although if you asked Piers what it had been over, he wouldn't be able to say. They had been fighting though, more than the usual sarcastic remarks and barbed insults that were tossed around. This time, they were fighting dirtily because they were both so angry.

Piers doesn't know who made the first move, he just knows that they had both lunged at each other, aggression pent up and spilling out into a fist fight. But then Chris had grabbed him, grabbed him around the back of his neck and hauled him in for a kiss. Piers had fought him, struggling under him but even as strong as Piers was, if Chris set out to use his strength against him, Piers was helpless.

In this, with Chris, Piers was glad to be helpless; glad Chris had been the one to breach the lines of friendship and comradeship first.

It had progressed from there and somewhere between losing his pants and Chris pushing two slicked fingers inside of him, Piers had lost the will to say _no, we can't, this isn't right_.

This had always been inevitable between them.

After a quick fuck in the living room, Chris had dragged Piers into his room and pushed him down into sheets that smelled of sweat. Piers had gone willingly, pulling Chris down and they had gone two more rounds before falling asleep with the sunrise.

He had woken up sore and Chris had woken up regretful and they didn't bring it up. Instead, they had showered separately and then Piers had taken Chris to a farmer's market where they had bought blackberries and eaten them right there. The juice had stained Chris's fingers and all Piers could do was stare at those fingers and oh, he wanted them again.

He had made a helpless noise and Chris, Chris who had always been so in tune with Piers and what Piers needed, splurged for a cab instead of the bus and had taken him home and made him fall apart under those fingers all over again.

They never spoke of it, even when it happened again and again and again.

***

Piers wakes on Sunday morning with the blankets on the floor and Chris laying half on top of him, the bulk of Chris's weight on Piers's left arm and he would be convinced he was having a heart attack if he didn't know the reason for the tingling in his arm. He groans and pushes at Chris until he's able to pull free, rolling out of the bed. He stretches completely naked in front of the window and stares out at the Vancouver skyline.

The sun is shining brightly, a rarity in November, and there isn't a cloud in the sky. The weather is a gift and Piers is determined to take full advantage of it. He turns back to Chris and lifts his foot to nudge at Chris's shoulder.

“Wake up,” he says impatiently. “It's a beautiful day out, we should be outside.”

Chris groans and rolls over, shoving his head under a pillow. Piers narrows his eyes and kicks Chris this time, connecting solidly to his solar plexus and Chris comes awake with a raspy gasp. Piers smirks.

“What.. the fuck?” Chris mutters blearily, rubbing at his skin and he blinks up at Piers. “What?”

“Get up,” Piers says, moving over to his backpack and he pulls out a pair of jeans, sliding into them without bothering with underwear. “Let's go to the park and toss a football around.”

There's silence from the bed and after Piers has pulled on a long sleeved shirt that matches the color of the sky outside, he turns around to look at Chris. Chris is now sitting up in bed, his legs folded and he holds the sheet over his hip, covering his nakedness. He's also frowning.

“What is it?” Piers asks.

“It's... nothing,” Chris finally decides, shoving the sheet back and he stands up. Piers's eyes roam his skin hungrily, knowing that he could label almost every scar on Chris's body and where it came from. Chris has the body of a warrior, retirement hasn't done anything to diminish that.

He could push Chris into answering him, he knows if he tries hard enough that Chris will give in and say what's on his mind but Piers doesn't want to hear it. They've spent the past twenty-four hours laughing or fucking and Piers knows that today can continue like that, as long as he doesn't ask what Chris is thinking.

“Come on, wear that red shirt that I just laundered for you,” Piers says instead. “It looks good on you.”

At the smile Chris gives him, Piers knows that it's a temporary truce and for right now, he's won.

They leave the house half an hour later, the football tucked under Chris's arm and Piers has his wallet so he can buy them lunch. The park is pretty much deserted, even though it's beautiful out. They toss the ball back and forth, Piers still stretching his new arm, forcing it to remember how to be like his old arm, his original one, not the mutated one. He's always reminding his body to be different, to be better, to be how it was before.

They play until Piers's stomach growls and the sun is hanging high in the sky, enveloped in clouds that threaten to burst at any moment. Piers catches the ball, grunting slightly at the impact. Chris packs more of a wallop than he knows.

“Hey,” he calls, jogging closer to Chris so he doesn't have to shout. “You wanna grab some grub? It's on me.”

“Sure,” Chris says, smiling easily and Piers helplessly smiles in return. “There's a great pub just around the block. I need a drink.”

Piers loses his smile but he just nods his head and waits for Chris to fall in step with him, letting him lead the way since Chris knows where they are going, Chris has always known where they're going.

He knows Chris is an alcoholic and he knows that people worry over him. Leon phones him plenty, whether he's off duty or gone on a mission and he always sounds so panicked. He says Piers has to go see Chris, he would go except Chris doesn't like to see him and instead they fight. Chris always says he can't let Leon see him like that.

It makes Piers wonder what that says about himself.

He knows Chris needs real help, any time Piers comes for a visit, all he does it patch a band aid over a gushing wound. Chris needs rehab, he needs the BSAA to step back in and say _we'll help, we've got this_ , but they don't because they washed their hands of Chris Redfield years ago.

He slides into the wooden chair and looks at Chris, who is already ordering a drink. Piers orders water, ignoring the look that Chris gives him. He doesn't think he can play that game right now, not when his heart hurts so.

He had sacrificed himself to save Chris, having Chris promise that he wouldn't retire and that he would live out his life honorably. Chris had done the complete opposite of that and Piers worries that soon there will be no chance for Chris to turn around. 

He had slowly devolved into an alcoholic when Jill first sacrificed herself for him, and even though he later found out she was alive, it did nothing to staunch the flow of spirits down his throat. The first crack in the plate that had held Chris together and Piers supposed he was the final straw that shattered the man altogether.  
Nothing could be compared to now.

Chris never left his apartment unless it was Piers dragging him out. He was slowly killing himself and Piers refused to sacrifice himself again for Chris, not when he had been disrespected so much before.

“You're thinking,” Chris says, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Piers looks up and watches Chris take another swallow of his beer. His stomach roils unpleasantly and he has little desire for food anymore. He gives Chris a smile though, the best that he is capable of.

“Deciding what to order,” he says instead of the truth.

Chris studies him like he's measuring Piers up. He finally nods and looks away, drinking more of his beer. Piers doesn't know if that means he's passed or failed the test.

That night, Chris drinks himself into a stupor, despite Piers's presence. Piers can't talk him out of it so he endures it silently instead, he doesn't want to leave Chris with nagging ringing in his ears. When Chris is fully beyond tipsy and is solidly in the drunk zone, he takes Piers to bed and fucks him roughly, laying bruises on his hips that will take days to fade.

When Piers wakes early the next morning, Chris is watching him, his mouth drawn down in sadness. He doesn't have to speak, Piers already knows the question on his mind, it's the same question that he asks every time, _are you leaving today, are you leaving me today_?

 _Yes_ , Piers thinks silently, reaching out to brush his fingers along Chris's jaw before he leans in and kisses him softly, sliding under his body so Chris can take him again, gently this time. _Yes, I must leave you again_.

***

When his plane lands in New York, Leon is waiting at the gate for him, dressed in leather and his arms crossed over his chest. He's a menacing sight, for those that don't know him, that don't know how kind and caring he is towards those he loves. Piers makes a beeline for him, not refusing the hug he receives.

“How is he?” Leon asks against his temple and Piers pulls back with a sigh.

“I found him drunk and left him drunk,” he says, frustrated at himself. “We had some good moments in between, but it was a bad trip, overall.”

Leon nods his head like he was expecting such news and begins walking, Piers falling into step beside him. “You know, I'm probably the wrong person to ask this of you, considering I was the one who suggested you go, but you don't have to visit him so much.”

“What, and know that he's sitting in his apartment for days on end?” Piers shakes his head. “That's the repayment I give him for all he's done for me?”

“I think you paid your dues years ago, Piers,” Leon says quietly, seriously. “Chris is an addict and hell bent on his own downward spiral. Don't let him take you along for the ride.”

“So I sit back and watch him self destruct? That's not like me.”

He's never told Leon or Sherry or any of his friends about his relationship with Chris. They know he goes and visits him, but as far as they're concerned, they believe it's a soldier trying to help his Captain. They don't know that he likes being underneath Chris, that the entire time he's there, he keeps hoping Chris will wrangle the front of his jeans open and shove his hand inside, jerking Piers off with rough strokes. He could never tell anyone about that because nobody would understand that he needs Chris, just like Chris needs him and this fucked up medium they've found is working for them so far.

Leon purses his lips. “What if I came with you next time? Perhaps if we're both there, we could convince him to get some real help. Or maybe Claire should go, Chris has listened to her in the past before.”

Piers thinks of how much that would subtract from having orgasms. He shakes his head. “Nah, I think I got this. He's my captain.”

Leon shrugs his shoulders. “If you say so, Piers. Don't feel afraid to come to me for help though, I'm concerned about Chris too.”

“I know you are, and... thanks,” Piers says. “Where we headed?”

“Asia – specifically, Thailand,” Leon says, passing him a boarding pass. “Our flight leaves in an hour.”

“Great,” Piers says, wondering how long he'll be gone from Chris this time.

***

Chris stares out the window of his apartment, the rain leaving streaks and Chris reaches one fist out to trace them with his fingertip. He's drank more than he plans to, his hand isn't steady against the window. He growls in frustration and thrusts his hand out, trying to track the raindrop but instead his whole hand goes through the window and he blinks, startled.

Through the haze of dulling pain and the color of bright blood, Chris wonders why Piers isn't there to help. He pulls his hand back, wiping the blood on his pants. It wells up again, spilling over his knuckles and he grimaces, wiping it on his pants again. He repeats this motion repeatedly until his hand is raw and he's drank a quarter of the bottle of whiskey.

He passes out with his injured hand cradled against his chest and the whiskey still in his other fist. His gray sweatpants are streaked with darkening red and the rain drips inside the room.

His last thought before becoming unconscious is, _I hope Piers comes home soon_.


	2. and emotion endlessly

Piers exits the Vancouver airport on December 31st. It's almost eight in the evening and the city is dark and rainy. Piers wonders if that's why Chris chose Vancouver – majority of the year it is gray and depressing, much like Chris himself these days.

New Year's Eve celebrations are in full swing and he has trouble finding a cab. He finally flags one down and slides in with his small suitcase, telling the driver Chris's address. He had just returned back to the US yesterday from Thailand and had told his commanding officers that he would need to be off-duty for at least a month. They had granted it to him and he had taken the next available flight out to Vancouver.

He's never sure how he's going to find Chris. He knows he could text him and ask him how he is, what has he done that day but he knows Chris wouldn't answer him. Chris doesn't like to record his failures and having to respond saying, _drank until I passed out_ would qualify as a failure.

He hopes for a brief moment that Chris won't be home, that he will be out celebrating a new year with friends he has made. The hope is fleeting though and so with a heavy heart, Piers makes his way up the stairs and unlocks the door to Chris's apartment, bracing himself as he swings it open.

The apartment is slightly messy but it smells fresh enough so Piers's anxiety lowers a little. There are dishes piled high in the sink but at least that means that a) Chris has been eating and b) he hasn't been eating fast food. His anxiety lowers a little more. 

He sets his suitcase down by the table and reaches for the note that is on the table, the hope returning that it will say, _Piers, I've gone out to have fun, I'm moving on with my life. This is where I am, if you come, join me. I want to welcome this new year with you._

Instead though, it is a suicide note and Piers's anxiety rises until it spills over and he's crying out, rushing to the bedroom where he'll know he will find Chris.

Chris is sitting in the bed, his assault rifle on the sheets beside him and he looks up, his eyes wide in surprise before his face twists into guilt and he looks away. The TV in the bedroom is blaring; he's watching a countdown.

“What the fuck,” Piers says, his tongue thick in his mouth and his eyes burn, oh they burn so fiercely. He can't keep doing this. “Why the fuck would you - ”

“I was waiting for midnight,” Chris says defensively. “You weren't coming back and I'm so fucking sick of living, Piers. Don't you understand that?”

“No, I don't understand that,” Piers says sharply, moving forward and he grabs the gun, clicking the safety back on and he empties the chamber. “What about me, Chris? How did you think I was going to feel... _finding you_? I've been gone longer than four weeks – you should know I'm always going to come back!”

“That's what you say now but what happens when you find someone worth staying there for?” Chris shouts. “Can't you understand it, Piers? I am tired of breathing. Being retired isn't enough for me, I just want to be _done_.”

Piers starts crying. After all he has done to try and help Chris pull himself together, all the money and time he has spent on flights, the nights he's worried himself sick over Chris, the amount of orgasms and delight he has found in Chris's body and his smile... it's all coming to an end.

“I found you,” Piers says, reaching out and he stumbles on to the bed and into Chris's lap. He straddles him and wraps his arms tightly around his neck. “You're worth staying for, understand _that_.”

“Don't cry,” Chris says, shaking his head and Piers runs his hand through his hair, noting that Chris is showing a little more silver at his temples than he used to. He's aging and he's had a hard life and seen a lot of things. Can he really be blamed for wanting to check out early? “This isn't a bad thing. It's just life, Piers.”

“After all we've been through, this is how you're gonna end it? A note on the table and letting me find your brains on the wall?” Piers shakes his head. “I thought you were a better man than that, _Captain_.”

The use of Captain is a low blow and Chris jerks back from him, hurt written on his face. Piers ignores the look though because how dare Chris become angry at this, how dare Chris think that he's the victim in all of this?

Piers leans forward and kisses him.

Chris pulls back and shakes his head. “Piers, no, come on. You gotta fly home, you have to let me be.”

“You think I'm just going to leave so you can off yourself?” Piers sees red again and he climbs off Chris's lap. He grabs the gun and walks out of the room, jerking his phone out of his pocket and he calls Leon.

“Piers, wait,” he can hear Chris tumbling out of the bed but he ignores him, walking to the living room where he throws the gun down on the couch and paces the room as the phone rings.

“Piers?”

“Yeah,” he says once Leon has answered.

“What's going on, man? Where you at? It's New Year's Eve, I hope you're celebrating - ”

He cuts Leon off. “You said I could call you if I needed help. I need help. I can't do this on my own anymore. You have to come to Vancouver.”

“Shit,” Leon mutters and Piers can hear the volume in the background decrease as if Leon has left the room. “What's going on?”

“Chris tried to kill himself tonight,” Piers says.

“Fuck, Piers,” Chris tries to reach for the phone but Piers turns and punches him as hard as he can, knocking Chris on to the floor and he stays down, holding his jaw with a look of betrayal. Piers doesn't give a fuck.

“Jesus Christ,” Leon breathes.

“I need help,” Piers repeats. “Leon, I can't... I can't do this. He's going to kill himself or I'm gonna help him do it. You need to get here.”

“I'm leaving right now,” Leon says. “Can I hang up or do you think you can manage for a couple of hours? I'll get a private flight.”

“I'll be fine. Just... hurry,” Piers says and then he hangs up. He looks down at Chris who is still lying on the floor and his face hardens. “We tried doing this your way for years. We're going to do it _my_ way now. If you don't like it and it still doesn't work, I'll hand you the damn gun myself.”

“That a promise, soldier?” Chris says, his eyes suddenly hopeful again and Jesus, just how fucked up is Chris? How could Piers have missed any of this?

“Yeah, that's a promise, Captain,” Piers replies and his heart breaks in his chest.

***

Leon arrives three and a half hours later, and it's almost midnight. Piers takes the gun with him when he goes to open the door. Leon takes one look at his face and at the gun before he steps inside the apartment and envelopes Piers into a tight hug.

"I'm here," he says.

"Thank God," Piers breathes, pulling back after a moment and Leon ruffles his hand through Piers's hair affectionately.

"How you holding up? Where's Chris?"

"I'm right here," Chris says from the hallway, not giving Piers a chance to respond. His eyes have narrowed and his face is tight. Piers knows that he doesn't want Leon here, he doesn't want Leon to see him like this; Leon's opinion means too much. It hurts to know that it's lessening of Chris by the second.

"Hey, Chris," Leon says, ignoring the look on Chris's face and he walks over to him and gives him a tight hug, holding on tighter when Chris tries to get away. 

"Stop it," he says firmly and Chris stills. "You're getting a hug whether you like it or not."

Piers moves over and hugs them both, needing the comfort, needing to feel the warmth of another body pressed against his. Orgasms be damned, he can't do this on his own anymore. Chris is on a downward spiral and Piers can't fix him, no matter how much he wishes he could.

Eventually, Leon releases them both and sits Chris down on the couch, sitting beside him. Piers can tell Chris is highly uncomfortable because he reaches for Piers and draws him into his lap, something he would have never done in front of Leon before. Leon doesn't say anything about it and neither does Piers because what is there to say? 

It's obvious the way Chris is holding him that it's not your typical friendship between two males but Piers is out of excuses. If Chris needs him, he's there.

He's always been there.

"You're going to rehab," Leon says and Chris's arms tighten around Piers's middle until it's painful.

"No, I'm not," Chris says, shaking his head. "I know you guys think I'm mentally unstable or an alcoholic but I'm not - I'm completely fine. You don't realize that I'm not crazy. I'm just tired of living."

"That sounds pretty crazy to me," Leon says mildly, leaning back on the couch. He studies Chris thoughtfully. "Why are you tired of living?"

"I am haunted every night by the men I have lost and the people I have killed," Chris says dully. "I have lost so much. I know I have done good in this world but I am tired of feeling scared. I fear for the next attack, whether it's in China, or Sweden or even here, in my own backyard. I don't think I can live through another bio-terrorism attack."

"So you seek comfort in the bottom of a bottle."

"Where else am I supposed to find it? Therapists don't work for me, I've tried enough of them. Piers? I thought maybe that would be enough but he keeps leaving."

"Hey," Piers says, offended. "I leave because I have to - because I have a job I committed to. If you had stayed in the BSAA - "

"The BSAA was killing me!" Chris roars, shoving Piers off his lap and he stands, his hand clenched. "I couldn't stay another day with them, not after all the men I led to their deaths. They would have just kept coming and I would have kept _failing_ and what if I lost you again?"

Piers blinks. "I'm not going anywhere, Chris."

"What if you don't come home? At least I know it's not my fault if you don't. At least I would know I didn't fail to keep you safe."

"Or perhaps if you had been there, I would have been safe," Piers retorts.

"We've been down that road before and we both know how that turned out," Chris says angrily.

"Look," Leon cuts in. "Regardless if you return to the BSAA or not, you have got to stop drinking, Chris."

"I need something to numb the pain, just take the edge off. The only other thing is Piers and he always _leaves_."

Leon's eyes flicker over to Piers but Piers looks away. Leon looks back at Chris. "So if you came back to the BSAA, you'd be able to see Piers more. You guys would go on every mission together."

Chris snorts out a derisive laugh. "Piers and I couldn't do what we do in the BSAA."

Piers can feel his cheeks coloring red and he thinks, _shut up, Chris, please shut up, please I love you, please_.

"What do you mean?"

Chris looks over at Piers and surprise wavers over his face. "Piers never told you?"

"Piers doesn't tell me a lot of things he should," Leon says, his voice hardening. "So why don't you?"

Chris doesn't look over at Piers again. "Piers and I are fuck buddies," he says, shrugging one, muscled shoulder.

Piers wishes the floor would open up and swallow him. It sounds so crass when Chris says it like that and he can tell because Leon wrinkles his face like he's just heard something distasteful. It's not distasteful though, it's sweet and makes sense and oh, it's everything Piers has ever wanted.

"Piers?" Leon turns to him. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"What was there to say?" He asks helplessly. "I'm in love with someone who has a death wish?"

Chris and Leon both make a choked noise but Piers ignores them. He hadn't meant to make such a personal admission but it was true - he's in love with Chris. There is no other way around it. They aren't just fuck buddies, at least not to Piers. He wants Chris completely, but right now, he will just take what he can get.

"Forget it," he mutters, scrubbing his hand over his face. "Listen, Leon, you look like you can handle this. I'm gonna go."

"Where are you going?" Chris demands.

"It's none of your business," Piers says sharply. "It doesn't matter where... where a fuck buddy goes, okay? Sex is off the table for tonight so really, why should you care where I go? Why do you ever care where I am?"

He shakes his head and leaves, his entire frame trembling. He closes the door gently behind himself. He doesn't know where he's going, it's New Year's Eve and in downtown Vancouver, there's going to be swarms of people.

Piers doesn't do well with crowds anymore.

He shakes his head and slides down the wall to sit on his ass in the dirty stairwell. He can pass a couple of hours here. He hates Chris but he loves Chris. He wants to stay far away from him but deep down he needs to be close to him because it's Chris and Piers will always, _always_ be there for him.

Piers wakes up a couple of hours later. He has a kink in his neck from where his head has slumped over against the wall. There is no sound coming from the apartment. Piers stands and stretches out all his kinks before he unlocks the door and pushes it open.

Leon's in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and he's stirring something in a pot. He looks up at the sound of the door and gives Piers a small smile.

"Hey," he says, his voice even more gentle than it normally is when it's regarding Piers. "You doing better?"

Piers shrugs and steps inside the kitchen, taking a deep whiff. There's something spicy in the air. "How's Chris?"

Another soft look crosses Leon's face and it makes Piers want to turn away and hide. He doesn't say anything about it though, he just gives Piers another smile. "He's sleeping. We had a good talk."

"Return to the BSAA kind of talk? Stop drinking kind of talk?"

"I don't think he's ready to return to the BSAA just yet. Maybe never," Leon shrugs. "And that's okay, Piers. I know you didn't want him to retire, but Chris has been fighting bio-terrorism for years now. He's been through a lot and if he wants to retire, I just have to back him. It's the drinking we're going to focus on now."

"One problem at a time," Piers agrees quietly, leaning over to look in the pot. Leon is making some sort of soup that smells of spice and hot sauce. He knows Piers and Chris both have a weakness for hot sauce.

Leon pulls him into a hug and Piers doesn't resist, he lays his head down against Leon's shoulder and stays there until the trembling stops. Once he has composed himself, he pulls back.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was sleeping with Chris," he says quietly, his gaze going down to the chipped linoleum. "It's embarrassing, you know?"

"Don't be embarrassed," Leon says. "You and Chris have spent _years_ being close. It's not really that surprising that it turned into more."

"I am so ridiculously in love with him," Piers says sadly. "And there is nothing I can do for him. I can't stay and watch him self destruct so I leave but that only makes it _worse_ and I just don't know what to do. Maybe I should have just let him die."

"You would have never forgiven yourself and then I would have lost both of you," Leon says, shaking his head. "We'll figure this out, Piers. I think if Chris goes to rehab and honestly tries, they'll be able to help him."

"How long would he be gone for? Could I go visit him?"

"I know of a place in Texas," Leon says, grabbing the wooden spoon and he stirs the soup slowly. It's almost four in the morning but Piers is starving and soup sounds amazing right about now. "It's pretty high end but it specializes in retired soldiers who suffer from depression, PTSD, and addictions, among other things. I think they could really help him, Piers."

"If you think it's going to work, then let's do it," Piers says without any hesitation. "Money is no cost."

"Okay," Leon nods his head. "I'll phone them in a couple of hours. We'll fly out in six hours."

"Okay," Piers says, abandoning the idea of soup because if he only has six hours left with Chris, he's going to make them worth his while. He heads out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

Leon smiles at his retreating form and turns the radio on quietly.

***

Chris is sleeping when Piers enters the bedroom. He looks younger when he sleeps, his rugged face relaxed and he has one arm curled around a pillow. Piers crawls into bed beside him and slides on top, kissing the back of Chris's neck as his hands pull at his shirt.

He has Chris's clothes off and two fingers working inside of Chris before Chris comes fully awake. Chris doesn't bottom often, it's a rare treat when it happens, but Piers has had enough and he thinks, _no, mine, I'm taking, I'm claiming_.

"Piers?" He asks, muzzy with sleep and he twists his head to look at Piers.

"No, it's Leon," Piers huffs out an impatient laugh and twists his fingers deeper. Chris groans and arches up, spreading his legs to give Piers more access.

"Don't even joke about that," Chris says with a grin.

"You're going to rehab," Piers says, his voice catching.

"Yeah... yeah, I am," Chris stutters, trying to rub up against the sheets and Piers pins him down with his free hand. "Are you gonna miss me?"

"What do you think, asshole?" Piers snarls before he takes a deep breath, slowing it down. He doesn't want this to be hate sex, he wants this to be slow and gentle so it burns Chris on the inside, so he carries Piers with him where ever he goes.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Chris changes the subject and Piers tries to keep up with him.

“Tell you what?”

“That you're in love with me,” Chris's voice breaks as Piers twists his fingers in a particular way. Chris's whole body shudders as he loosens and Piers can tell he's almost ready.

“I don't know,” Piers whispers, closing his eyes so he doesn't have to look at Chris anymore, it makes his heart hurt.

“Don't you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I'm in love with you, too,” Chris says.

“Oh.” 

Piers falls into him and together, they fall apart.

***

Piers wakes up a few hours later. Chris is spooned around him, even when Piers tries to be the bigger soon, somehow they shift in their sleep like puzzle pieces and Chris tucks him in close and Piers will always be smaller to him. He untangles himself from Chris's embrace and climbs out of the bed, dressing in fresh clothes.  
A quick glance at his watch shows they need to leave the apartment in forty minutes.

“Chris,” he says, nudging his foot against Chris's back and he gently pushes him. Chris groans in protest and keeps his eyes shut. “ _Chris_ ,” Piers repeats firmly, giving him a rougher shove. “You need to get up and shower. Let's go.”

“I want to stay sleeping,” Chris says sleepily, burrowing his head into Piers's pillow and he inhales deeply.

“Fine, don't shower. You can go to rehab reeking of sex, I don't care,” Piers mutters and leaves the room. He can hear Chris scrambling out of the bed and the door is wrenched open.

“You're still making me go?”

“What, you thought your drinking problem and your depression would disappear after a good hour of sex?” Piers doesn't know why he's goading Chris. He's just so frustrated that once again, Chris thinks a couple of rounds between the sheets will solve problems.

“You could hold workshops on that, tour around the country giving lectures,” Leon says from the doorway of the kitchen and he passes Piers a mug of dark coffee.

Piers takes a grateful sip. Leon looks exhausted, Piers wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't sleep but he can't bring himself to care. He's just too damn thankful that Leon is even here, taking control because God knows Piers can't do it anymore.

“No, I'm serious,” Chris says impatiently. “I don't want to die anymore, that was just a dumb, New Year's Eve thing.”

“Yeah, and what happens when it's Valentine's Day and I'm gone and you're sitting here home alone with your gun?” Piers challenges him right back because that has always been Piers, he has always pushed Chris back. It's what makes them tick.

“I wouldn't leave you,” Chris says softly. “Even getting you some of the time is better than not getting you at all.”

“You're still going,” Piers says firmly, keeping his face purposefully blank but he allows his stomach to privately swoon at how sweet Chris is being.

“Leon, can't we discuss this a little bit?” Chris obviously realizes that Piers is a lost cause and turns to Leon for a bid to freedom instead.

“Are you kidding, after what I paid to get a private plane to Texas?” Leon shakes his head. “I'd pack whatever you want for the next six weeks.”

“Six weeks if you're lucky,” Piers adds. “If you're difficult, we'll make it three months. Don't think we won't.”

“Pretty sure rehab and the length of time is all voluntary,” Chris narrows his eyes. “I'm fairly certain I can leave anytime I want.”

“Chris, you know it's the right thing to do,” Leon says.

“I know myself better than you do,” Chris snaps back. “You've barely been around for the past year, why do you care how I am?”

“We're friends, of course I'm going to care - ”

“Friends see each other! I rarely see you!”

“Unlike you, I'm not retired! I have a job to do!” Leon throws up his hands in frustration. "Some of us can't sit around and drink ourselves into a stupor all day!"

“I'm not going.”

“Yeah, you really are.”

“No, I'm not! And you can't make me.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Piers hisses in a tone so low and dangerous that Leon and Chris both immediately shut their mouths. “If you don't go Chris, I will never speak to you again. I won't see you, I won't answer your calls, nothing. If you threaten to kill yourself, I will delete the email and let you do it.”

Chris blinks at him.

“I'm serious,” Piers says, softening his voice. “This is it, Chris. Either you go, or you and I, whatever we have going on, is finished. Me or the alcohol, that's really what this comes down to.”

Chris stares at him, dark bags under his eyes and his left hand is trembling against the wall, Piers knows he needs a drink. He needs to shower and shave as well in order to look semi-presentable. Chris swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“You, Piers,” he finally whispers. “Don't you know it's always been you?”

_Thank God_ , Piers thinks as they're kissing, Chris backed up against the wall and Piers is scrambling to hold on to him as much as he can. _Thank God_.

He knows it's not going to be this easy, Chris will fight rehab because he's a stubborn asshole like that but at the end of the day, he'll do what it takes to make Piers happy because that's what he does, it's what he's always done. And damn it, Piers loves him for it. He loves him so much that sometimes he doesn't feel like he can breathe. Maybe he'll take fewer missions, stay here more. Find a part-time job in Vancouver and be closer to Chris.

And maybe, just maybe, if Chris does well in his recovery and Piers does stay in Vancouver, maybe they can make this thing between them something a little more permanent. Maybe they can be partners in every sense of the word -

“I'm calling best man right now,” Leon drawls, breaking Piers out of his sappy thoughts.

Piers flicks Leon the finger before continuing to do what he knows best; holding on to Chris.


End file.
